


Secrets, and a Lack Thereof

by IneffableDoll



Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [23]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 2019, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Holding Hands, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, New Year's Eve, Queerplatonic Relationships, accidental ficlet, i guess?, rating for a wee bit o language, things are bound to happen, when you give a writer a fortune cookie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28473627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: “You think that it is a secret, but it has never been one.”AKA, a fortune from a fortune cookie turned writing prompt turned soft ineffable love confession fic.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714558
Comments: 27
Kudos: 85
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Secrets, and a Lack Thereof

**Author's Note:**

> I had no intention of writing a New Year’s fic until approx. thirty minutes ago (as of writing) when my brother received this fortune from a fortune cookie:  
>   
> [You think that it is a secret, but it has never been one.]  
> And goddamn, if that didn’t make my writing senses tingle. Let’s see how fast I can bust out a fic, then.

Aziraphale had collected books of prophecy for centuries. He had befriended more “witches” than philosophers, more astrologers than astronomers, and visited at least as many fortune tellers as roadside diners.

That said, he didn’t believe it. Any of it (with the exception of a certain witch who need not be named). The tarot cards and the magic balls and auras and visions. It was pure twaddle, nothing more (again, a certain witch aside).

But he would be lying – something he tried not to do – if he said it didn’t utterly _fascinate him._

Humans were always creating and guessing. Always asking questions of the natural world, of their inherent mortality, of the star-laden sky and the ocean-straddled Earth. There were no – rather, _few_ – answers to be found, and not without great work and sacrifice. Something he knew intimately. And yet, some of these clever, _impossible_ humans decided that they knew the answers that God Herself deigned to keep close to Her chest, and he loved it. He loved their brashness, their confidence, their sheer delight in questions and answer-seeking.

Perhaps it was blasphemous. Moreso than his coveted misprinted bibles, however?

He’d have to think on that, perhaps. If he could pencil it in.

When New Year’s Eve rolled around, in this post-Apocalyptic world (or a lack of such, he supposed), he and Crowley ordered in some Chinese food and sat together in the bookshop, perfectly contented with any human celebration that encouraged eating food and drinking alcohol. Even following the delicious sweet and sour chicken, chow mein, and kung pow shrimp, Aziraphale was alight with anticipation as he cracked open his fortune cookie with a satisfying little clicking crunch. Humans and fortunes, indeed.

Crowley smirked at him from the other end of the sofa. He’d already pulled out the champagne and poured two glasses (an indulgence that followed a half dozen empty bottles of various liquors, already) but, at Aziraphale’s insistence, was opening his own fortune cookie first. “Don’t get your hopes up,” the demon commented airily, tossing the plastic wrapper to flutter to the ground. “Y’know they’re not even fortunes nowadays. More like advice. Or jus’ vague, untrue ober – ovso – observations.”

This trend had greatly dismayed Aziraphale when it made itself apparent many years prior, but he pulled out his slip of paper, nonetheless, carefully setting aside his cookie halves for consumption in a moment. “Be that as it may…”

Crowley grunted as he unrolled his paper, turning it over to the English side. He’d never been good with Chinese characters. “ _’You value your principles above your wealth and fortune_ ,’” he read aloud, monotone. “See? Complete rubbish. Not even accurate.”

“You don’t even have money, dear, discounting that Rollo of yours-“

“Rolex-“

“And you value your principles very highly.”

He snorted. “Seems more suited to _you_ , angel.”

Aziraphale couldn’t argue with that. He had long valued his misguided principles over _everything._ “Let’s see mine, then.” He looked down to see an odd little smiling face at the start of the sentence and decided to ignore it. “ _’You think that it is a secret,_ ’” he read aloud, “ _’but it has never been one_.’”

There was a beat of silence before Crowley immediately started chuckling. “What kind of a fortune ‘s tha’?” he asked, incredulous but beaming with mischief. “Again, ‘s not a fortune! Just a – a statement! A _statement_ cookie!”

As the wicked creature fell into another bout of slightly drunken laughter, Aziraphale frowned at his slip. There was something…ominous about it. Almost threatening, if seen from a certain angle. But it was so unlike any, well, _statement cookie_ he’d ever seen or received. And what sort of secrets did he have, anyway? Or not have, he figured.

Of course, his entire history was marred in secrecy. His friendship with Crowley, namely. Hiding indulgences and miracles from Heaven. The Arrangement. But all of that had already been revealed last summer. He knew that wasn’t a secret anymore. He was overthinking this, anyhow – it was just a silly bit of chance to get this fortune. It didn’t mean anything.

Still…

_You think that it is a secret, but it has never been one._

What secrets were _left?_

His eyes flicked up to his counterpart, who was currently attempting to fold his little slip into the world’s tiniest paper aeroplane and muttering about dolphins. Well. There was _that_ , of course. But he didn’t see how that could be _relevant_ to…this.

“Boyfriend in the dark glasses…”

“Hmm? Did you say something, angel?”

Aziraphale jolted a bit, blinking quickly. He’d wadded the little paper into his fist, which he quickly unwound before tucking the “fortune” in their bag of takeout waste. “No, nothing. Ignore me.”

Crowley noticed, of course – observant thing. “Did the fortune bother you?” he asked, almost disbelieving. He seemed to force himself to sit up straighter, which was still a slouch because his body didn’t know how to do otherwise. “You know tha’s just a human thingy.”

“Of course, it is,” Aziraphale replied firmly. Too firmly, perhaps. _Methinks the lad doth protest too much._

“’Kay.” Crowley grinned at him rakishly, a debonair but drunken charm. “Besides, you n’ I both know you don’t have any secrets from me by now.”

Aziraphale made a face. “I’m not entirely transparent, I’ll have you know! You can’t read me like a book, fiend.”

“Can’t I?” Crowley challenged.

“No. Don’t be absurd.”

Crowley revealed himself to be far more drunk than Aziraphale as he slouched forward impossibly further, pointing slightly to the angel’s right. “I c’n prove it, y’know. I know exactly what you’re thinking righ’ now.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Aziraphale, too amused and fond to protest, waved a hand as though presenting him with a stage. “Then do enlighten me, my dear boy.”

Crowley shifted suddenly across the couch and slung an arm over the back of the sofa, practically on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “You’re thinking about a secret,” he said simply.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “How astute of you. Bravo. You deserve an award.”

“Not done!” Crowley cut in. “You’re thinking about a secret, and it’s a _secret_ that involves how _you_ feel ‘bout _me.”_

Aziraphale hesitated a moment before forcing a small laugh, a twinge of nerves sealing his throat. Crowley grinned like he’d won something.

“’M not gonna say it,” Crowley said simply. “Know you’re not ready.” With that, he returned to his half of the sofa, picking up his champagne glass and taking a dainty sip.

Aziraphale stared, gaping, at his friend’s profile. Why, the – the nerve! The utter _cheek_ of him! He didn’t even know what he _felt_ or _thought_ about what had just happened, but his insides were galloping in a way that couldn’t be good for digestion (not that angels bothered with such tripe). There was simply no way that Crowley knew – knew that…knew _of_ …that is, the drunken ravings of this demon had no bearings on anything at all, _obviously._

With a huff, the angel took up his own champagne glass and swallowed a gulp too hasty for such a fine vintage as this. What a ridiculous conversation to have come from just a little slip of paper.

Crowley gave a small cough, regaining the angel’s attention. By the demon’s pinched expression, it was obvious he had sobered up. “My bad, angel,” he said in a low voice, staring into his drink and swirling it. “Got drunk. You know I’m a talkative drunk. I know you don’t want to, well, talk about it, so we won’t.”

Aziraphale found himself gaping at the demon yet again, jaw working. “Whatever are you going on about?”

Crowley glanced at him, then back to the drink. He frowned and faced Aziraphale. “You _know.”_

“I don’t.”

“’Course you do.”

“No, I really, truly do not. Which you know, if you _apparently_ know my every thought.”

“Well, I’m. I’m talking about.” The demon made a pained noise. “You know!”

“I do not!”

“How you love me!” the demon burst. “Obviously!”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, and when the only thing that came out was an embarrassing squeak, closed it again. “No,” he offered meagrely.

Crowley looked almost offended. He stood, eyebrows furrowed, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Right. Ruined this, then. Happy New Year, angel.” And he made to stalk out of the room.

“C-Crowley…”

“Put my foot in it. I know I go too _fast_ and you’re not ready. I didn’t mean to force it on you, really, but now I _have,_ so I’m just gonna give you some space okay?” Crowley grimaced and shoved on his sunglasses. “Call me when you can stand me again, alright?”

This snapped Aziraphale out of his stupor. “Oh, don’t be silly! Sit down, Crowley.”

The demon raised an eyebrow at him. “…You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. No point in you running off into the demonic night to – to do who knows what.”

He didn’t move. “Do you _want_ me to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I…?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

Outside, the noise from the streets swelled as Soho revellers of the new year began to loudly count down. _10…9…_

Crowley sat beside him, wary. “Then…”

_8…7…_

“I didn’t know you knew,” Aziraphale managed thickly. “I thought it might bother you.”

_6…5…_

“Bother me?” Crowley said, incredulous, colour high on his cheeks. “Why would that _bother me?_ You know I…”

_4…3…_

“You what?” Aziraphale said on a whisper.

_2…1…_

An explosion of noise drowned the city, drowned the words Crowley mouthed to him. A year gone by, a new one freshly arrived. A measurement invented by humans, celebrated by humans. An arbitrary date, nothing but another cycle, another rotation of the Earth and the sun in its infinite cosmos. Bursts of colour in the sky, joy in the spark of hope that humans ignited. All across the city, across the country, across the world and its many time zones, smiles were shared, lips were shared. Beginnings were shared.

Well.

Aziraphale held out his hand, breath steady, and, after a long moment of hesitation, Crowley accepted it, fingers interlocked like the comfortable weave of an old, old tapestry.

“I…suppose my secret was not well kept, then,” Aziraphale admitted sheepishly, quiet enough to separate it from the shrieks beyond the shop.

Crowley smiled at him softly. “This is why you were a shit spy, angel.”

Aziraphale made an offended noise, and Crowley’s smile turned into a satisfied smirk. Really, how had Aziraphale ever thought the demon didn’t know him, perhaps better than he knew himself? However cliché the phrase. Of course, he had never kept this one a secret. And, as it turned out, perhaps there hadn’t been a need to. Not anymore.

Aziraphale may not have believed in the prophesies and fortunes of humans, but he supposed they could certainly find their uses.

**Author's Note:**

> There. Exactly one hour and two minutes later, a fic. Did a little cursory editing, and it’s very rough, and though I usually prefer to let a fic marinate a couple days before posting, I’m throwing it into the world. Hope you enjoyed it, and may our 2021 be a little bit less fucked up than 2020.  
> On a more genuine note, thank you all for your support this year. I can’t express how much this fandom, and all this writing (and some of you specific friends I’ve made here), completely saved me and my sanity since I discovered Good Omens in February. Between international and personal tragedy, this community has been my backbone, and my comfort. All you writers and readers alike have made this year bearable. We’re here (we’re all probably queer), and let’s continue to hold onto each other as we carry on into what lies ahead of us.


End file.
